


Unschooling

by JayEz



Series: Life's lessons [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Child Abuse, Flashbacks, Gladiators, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Barry Allen, POV Leonard Snart, Self-Denial, The Author Regrets Nothing, but I promise angst and plot and feels, do not read this for smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:29:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6943579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry has a hard time getting on after Captain Cold (<em>Len, he told you to call him Len</em>) escaped Iron Heights. Meanwhile, Len reaps the benefits of his thieving ways, aided by the Rogues, but he isn’t fooling anybody into thinking he is the same man as he was before. </p><p>In which Len stops listening to other people’s lessons and begins making his own curriculum. Sequel to ‘Education’.</p><p>
  <strong>[due to real-life circumstances, all my fanfics are officially on hiatus]</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hidden Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the long-awaited (at least on my part) sequel! I hope a few of you are still around, and maybe this will win a few new readers for this series. I promise angst, feels, and action – with a happy ending. 
> 
> Endless thanks and gratitude to my brilliant beta [LadyOrpheus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyorpheus)! 
> 
> The narrative is somewhat achronological since I kept the flashback structure and added Barry’s POV. Let me know if you think it subtracts from or adds to the flow!

**_Cardiff, Wales – August 2016_**

The amber liquid swirls in the tumbler, clinging to the glass for the barest second before trickling down again. 

Len takes small sips to draw out the burn at the back of his throat. The whisky – or _whiskey_ , as the locals say – is good, but he ordered it for effect, not taste. 

“What’s going on with you?” 

He lifts his head slowly to meet Mick’s eyes across the table. Sometimes Len wishes his Heat Wave were the simple-minded pyromaniac the newspapers make him out to be, rather than the insane yet perceptive friend he has become. 

Len sends him a questioning look as he takes another sip. 

“Been acting weird,” Mick explains after a huff. “Saw you give that homeless chick some money.”

“I traded valuable information against a monetary incentive.” 

“Could’ve used other ways to motivate her, Snart.”

Len glares. “Mine was faster. Less messy, too. You got a problem, Mick, then say it.”

He keeps his tone neutral. Shawna and Mark are only a few feet away, alternating between making out and whispering in low tone, but snapping would burst even their bubble. Hartley (who has been flirting outrageously with the bartender for the better part of an hour) probably wouldn’t care enough to stop. Lisa, however, is another story. The second barman has been holding her attention ever since she approached him for a new pint of the house brew, though Len is doing his best to ignore his sister’s seductive posture. 

Mick puts his beer down with a grunt. “You’ve been acting weird for a long time. ‘S not the first time you didn’t ruff someone up. Not that we’re complaining with all the money we’re making, but we’ve been noticing it, ‘s all I’m saying.”

“What you’re saying is that there’s no problem, and you’re trying to make it one,” Len growls. 

In the corner of his vision, he can see Peek-A-Boo and Weather Wizard lift their heads, but thankfully Mick only shrugs and goes back to his drink. When Mick speaks up again, it’s about something else entirely. 

“So you gonna let us spend some of our cash, or we off to another job?”

“Undecided,” Len concedes. 

Having a team of metahumans at his disposal makes planning and executing heists a lot easier, which is why they just completed their third job in as many months. It has nothing to do with the way Len’s skin starts crawling when he remains inactive for too long. Nothing at all.

“Oh, can we go somewhere with a beach?” Shawna suggests. “Europe was fun, but I could do with some real summer.”

Len shudders at the thought of tropical weather, which doesn’t escape Mardon’s notice. 

Mark grins. “I’ll conjure you a breeze, Captain.”

Len tilts his head. “Well, there is always Cancún,” he says after a beat. “Found a very lucrative job there a few years back. And yes,” he adds before Shawna can ask, “it has a beach.”

“So wheels up tonight?” 

Len shakes his head at Mardon. As loath to admit it as he is, he knows both Rathaway and especially Lisa well enough to imagine what they would do to him if he cockblocked them again. Lisa is still mad about how quickly they left Athens, but there was no way Len would stay any longer in a city that reminded him of – _someone_ – at every corner. 

Shawna declares his decision “sweet” before Mark rises and pulls her with him. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where they are headed and Len downs the rest of his whisky in one to distract himself from the memories the lovebirds evoke. 

“You alright, Len?” 

It’s rare that Mick calls him anything other than Snart or Cold. It happens, Len has found, mostly when Mick reaches the sentimental state of being drunk. 

“Fine.” 

Mick doesn’t seem convinced. Len gets up to order another drink and refuses to think about how big of a lie it truly is. 

Prison taught him well. 

*

**_Outside Central City – three months earlier_ **

_“Welcome back, Snart.”_

_Mick’s voice is loud in the jet, his hand on Len’s shoulder firm enough to flick a switch in his mind. His Captain Cold persona feels foreign to him after months of disuse._

_“You brought what I asked for?”_

_Mick grunts and walks down towards the rear of the jet, presumably to fetch the tools. Len shares a smile with Lisa that must look more sincere than he thought himself capable, then greets the other three Rogues his sister included in his rescue party._

_Shawna Baez and Mark Mardon are holding hands near the pilot seats, one of which is occupied by none other than Hartley Rathaway. The man irritates Len more than Pete did, but Hartley is also smart and skilled and desperate enough for anyone to take him on to obey despite his rather vocal protests._

_“O Captain, my Captain, where are we going?”_

Case in point. 

_“Head east. I’ve got to take care of something,” Len orders, accepting the tool kit from Mick and getting to work on his Cold gun._

_It has been months since he last took it apart, yet he doubts he could forget its exact makeup if he tried. Finding the trackers, both the obvious and the hidden one that Cisco installed before handing it over, proves to be child’s play._

_He throws them out of the hatch with more force than probably necessary, but the gesture helps him rein in the strange feeling consuming his chest and gnawing at his mind. He squares his shoulders, straightens his spine._

_Iron Heights lies behind him, as does Barry Allen._

_Time for a new chapter._

*

Not for the first time, Barry wishes he could still get drunk. Even an agonizing hangover would be better than watching Cisco try and fail to flirt with the brunette at the bar, or feel Iris’s suspicious gaze on him. 

“I’ll get us another round,” Barry deflects, grateful that Caitlin is already tipsy enough to meet his offer with a loud cheer.

Too bad Iris isn’t as easily distracted. 

“Let me give you a hand.”

“You don’t have to –”

“With me there, we’ll get faster service.” 

Barry hangs his head. She has a point, of course. No matter how often they come here, the barkeeper still ignores both Barry and Cisco like a pair of bugs when there is a woman to pour drinks for. 

“You’d think that with all the revenue we’re bringing in, they’d consider us regulars and be a little more welcoming,” Barry babbles, because it’s the only topic he can think of and maybe it’ll derail the very serious, very heavy Talk, capital ‘T’ and all, that Barry can see heading in his direction like a freight train. 

“Baer.”

Yeah, no such luck. He should’ve just stayed home.

Iris’s eyes are soft in the dim light of the bar when he meets them. “Huh?”

“Come on, Baer. Talk to me.”

“About what?” 

Her indulgence is fading fast. Barry knows this face – it’s the one he’s come to associate with Iris The Journalist, who won’t let a story go until she’s uncovered all skeletons hidden underneath the surface. 

Barry feels his jaw clench. He really thought he’d been getting better at lying. 

“You’ve been off these past couple of weeks,” Iris says. “Did something happen? Is this still about Cold getting away?” 

“That was months ago, Iris – it’s in the past,” Barry hears himself saying. 

“Then what –”

The bartender cuts her off when he places their drinks on the counter and Barry seizes the chance to avert his gaze and pay. He’s about to take his and Cait’s glasses when a hand on his arm stops him. 

“Barry.”

“Look, Iris,” he sighs, “it’s nothing to worry about. And I know that if that changes that I can talk to you, okay?”

He meets her eyes and knows before she nods that he convinced her. 

It probably shouldn’t fill him with a sense of pride that he’s become so good at pretending he’s just angry with Len – _Captain Cold_ – that he can even distract Iris from his inner turmoil. 

It might’ve been fine – _he_ might’ve been fine – but then something always happens to remind him, is the problem. Like when he knocked over a pile of paper that evening as he was speeding about his apartment to change for their night out, and a few pages of notes and forms spilled onto the floor. 

* 

_Barry can’t seem to stay away. Len is like Cisco’s churros – once you start, there’s no stopping. Unfortunately, Barry’s heightened metabolism won’t save him from whatever side effects visiting Len might have._

_“Don’t tell me Whirlwind escaped already,” the older man sneers, folding his arms under his head and stretching on the cot of his prison cell. “It’s only been twenty-two hours and nineteen minutes.”_

_“Whirl Weevil,” Barry corrects, tugging at his shirt. “And no.”_

_By now, Len has caught on to the fact that Barry isn’t in his suit. The noise canceller is dutifully in place, however. Len doesn’t comment, doesn’t make a big deal out of it that this is the first time Barry drops by just because, no adrenaline-fueled premeditation required._

_“Uh, so…” Barry trails off awkwardly. Heat rises in his cheeks when all Len does is smirk knowingly up at him._

_Well, two can play that game._

_“Alright, I’m just gonna –” he gestures vaguely at the cell door._

_“Not so fast, Scarlet.”_

_A moment later, Len is crowding into his personal space; another and they’re kissing. Barry can feel Len’s hands on the buttons of his shirt and shifts to help the process. It doesn’t take long until he makes to do the same to the generic prison t-shirt covering Len’s torso._

_Barry is almost too distracted by the intricate ink on Len’s forearms to notice the other man freezing when Barry’s fingers slip underneath the hem. He files the reaction away to ponder later, and instead of just speeding through the undressing, Barry takes his time, stroking the skin covering Len’s hipbone with languid movements of his fingers._

_When Len finally relaxes, it’s him who pulls the prison garb off, not Barry._

_Apart form the accidental spying right at the beginning of their prison cell meet-ups, Barry hasn’t seen Len naked like this before. During their Post-Mission Fumbling (yeah, there’s a reason Cisco is naming metas) they have yet to go farther than basic stuff and that has led to some weird mental images in Barry’s mind of whatever additional ink the man might wish to hide._

_That Len’s self-consciousness is due to_ scars… _Well. Barry didn’t think._

_They’re everywhere, is the thing. Long scar tissue along Len’s flank indicating a knife wound, smaller ones between burn marks and bullet wounds, with tattoos obviously intending to distract. Only Barry never let himself be distracted; he’s a Badge after all._

_Len’s gaze is defiant when he meets it, daring him to comment._

_Barry swallows all of his questions, all his anger (How many were from Lewis Snart?) and looks for something lighter to focus on. He finds it on Len’s chest: there, on his left pectoral, is a snowflake tattoo._

_“Oh my God,” Barry laughs because, really, a snowflake tattoo?_

_For some reason, Len doesn’t join in._

_It’s not until later, when they’re both trying to fit onto the cot with orgasm-heavy limbs, that Barry reaches out and touches the dark lines on Len’s chest._

_Even without Len ever saying a word, Barry can read some of the ink as if it were a book. Joe has kept enough drawings Iris did when she was little that Barry can recognize the style in some details: a dog-shaped something here, an ice cream truck there. The string of notes on Len’s lower abdomen is certainly significant, meaning the snowflake is as well._

_“Will you tell me the story?” Barry whispers, looking._

_It has the opposite effect, and something in Len’s eyes shuts off._

_Barry doesn’t get an answer that night._

_What he does get is the final push for an idea he had._

_“Hey Joe,” Barry asks the next day at the precinct. “What do you know about consultants to the CCPD?”_

*

Barry still has the notes. Everything he’d been researching on how to turn Len into a consultant for the Central City Police Department, get him out of prison… well, yeah, under the purview of the police, but it would’ve been infinitely better than six or eight years in jail. 

That’s all moot now, of course. 

For one, Len is too clever to go anywhere near Central City again, ever, and even if he did, Barry would make sure he went right back to Iron Heights, into maximum security, with no visitation rights and no late night trips and no Christmas cookies – 

“Barry!” 

Caitlin’s voice rips him out of his musings and brings him back to the here and now, which apparently involves toasting to Team Flash’s recent success.

The drink leaves a bitter aftertaste in Barry’s mouth. 

One less metahuman tearing through Central City is not enough. The Flash can do more, needs to do more. 

Which is why Barry bows out early, ignores Iris’s worried probing, and returns to S.T.A.R. Labs for his suit. It’s barely midnight, so he still has a few hours to do as much as he possibly can for his city. 

And if he’s a little tired the next day, if Joe raises an eyebrow at the amount of caffeine he consumes, then that’s a small price to pay. 

*

If their contractor is impressed by how fast they complete the job, the man has enough self-control to hide his reaction. Or maybe it’s a certain attitude that comes with being a billionaire, Len muses as he watches the money transfer complete on his phone screen and nods at Mr. Takagi.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Snart.”

“Likewise,” Len says with a smile that feels only twenty percent fake. “Call us if you ever need another black market painting retrieved.”

“Oh, I certainly will,” Takagi promises. Len expects him to exit the basic hotel room with his bodyguard in tow for more luxurious pastures, yet Takagi remains, considering Len over the rims of his designer glasses. “You have quite the unique team, Mr. Snart.”

Len nods once more, forcing his features to remain neutral. The Rogues don’t advertise their metahuman members, but Takagi knows the layout of their mark’s home almost as well as Len does. He is perfectly aware that they could not have entered the hidden cellar by conventional means without the owner noticing. 

“There is a club,” Takagi continues, “a very elite club, that might have use for certain individuals.”

Len feels his brow furrow. “What kind of use?” 

“Nothing untoward, Mr. Snart. Merely entertainment.” 

Takagi reaches into the breast pocket of his suit where the slight bulge in the fabric drew Len’s practiced eye the moment they met. The business card Takagi hands him is made not of paper, but of platinum. A symbol of two crossed Roman swords is the only thing carved into the material. 

When Len looks up, Takagi is smiling. “I need to take my leave. Monaco awaits.” 

Len watches the man exit with sense of unease in his chest. Before he can unlock his phone and look up more intel on Monaco or the symbol, Lisa appears next to him. 

“So that’s done? Then come on, Lenny.” She grabs his arm and tugs him along into the other room. “Shawna and I’ve been dying to try the new dresses we bought, and the beach bar has an eighties night – you’ve got no excuse to spend all night staring at blueprints anymore.” 

“All that staring’s gonna pay for more of those dresses, sis,” Len points out, but Lisa ignores him. Nothing new there.

It isn’t until much later, after Mick and Lisa drank a group of German tourists under the table, after Mark and Shawna almost get them kicked out of the place for their exhibitionistic dance style, and after Hartley practically drowned in his own drool over a guy even Len can admit is worth salivating over, that Len gets the chance to do some research. 

Monaco appears to be a paradise for the filthy rich due to its tax laws and Mediterranean weather. The temperatures have Len pulling at his long-sleeve Henley that has long since begun to stick to his skin. His discomfort only mounts when he looks into the symbol and its associations with Gladiator fights in ancient Rome. 

_A metahuman fight club, maybe?_

“A handsome bloke like you shouldn’t be frowning like that.”

Len almost startles, cursing his lack of vigilance immediately. As far as pick-up lines go, that one was abysmal, though when he turns around to tell the guy just that, he finds he can’t. 

Sure, the hair’s too light and the posh British accent is ghastly – but the big brown eyes and lithe form take Len’s mind back to moments in time he’s been trying his damnedest to forget. 

“Hiya,” British Guy adds with a leer. “Want to buy a lad a pint?” 

It takes Len point-oh-three seconds to take stock of the situation and realize that none of the others are paying any attention to him at the moment. Even Lisa’s distracted enough not to notice whom the guy in front of Len is similar to. 

So Len lifts the corner of his lips and turns towards the woman behind the counter. 

“We’ll be doing shots.”

British Guy laughs, and leans closer. 

*

“Hey man, it’s okay,” Cisco tries, but the words only fan the anger in Barry’s chest. 

“It’s not okay!” he snaps, chest still heaving from their narrow escape. “A little girl is dead!”

“We did all we could, Barry,” Caitlin says. 

“Well, we should’ve tried harder.” 

Barry rips off the cowl, pulling a few hairs out along the way but he doesn’t care. They’ll grow back. Sophia will be gone forever, and it’s his fault. If he’d just been less trusting, less optimistic, less… 

_Naïve’s the word you’re looking for, Red,_ a voice whispers inside his head that sounds suspiciously like Len. 

Barry takes off before either Cisco or Caitlin gets the chance to say anything else. 

Harry finds him an hour later on the roof of one of the S.T.A.R. Labs buildings, his steps loud in the silence. By now, Barry manages to look at this Earth-2 incarnation of Harrison Wells without seeing ‘his’ Wells for that first moment, but it took a long time.

Barry heaves a sigh. “If you’ve come to lecture me, don’t.”

“I gave up on that long ago, Mr. Allen.” 

He waits. Harry wouldn’t have sought him out just to gaze at the stars with him, even now that he’s stuck on this planet for the foreseeable future. At least that weight is off Harry’s shoulders since they defeated Zoom and made Earth-2 safe for his daughter again. 

“You left your phone behind.” 

The man holds out the gadget and Barry blinks at it for a moment before catching on and accepting it. 

“Your father called,” Harry adds. 

There is a hint of bitterness coloring his tone – Harry never made a secret of how little regard he has for Henry Allen’s decision to be away from his son, not when his own daughter spent so long in Zoom’s clutches. 

Harry bids Barry goodnight and leaves him to check his voicemail, his pulse quickening like every time his Dad calls.

_“Hey slugger, guess you’re out protecting Central.”_

With no one around to see, Barry doesn’t hold back his wince.

_“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then. That’s right – I’ll be in town. I’ll be in town a lot longer, too… if you’ll have me. I… Barry, I want to come back. I miss my kid, and maybe my kid misses me too. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay? Take care, son.”_

Barry remains rooted to the spot as the dial tone rings out. 

He always figured he’d feel elated when his Dad finally decided to come back to Central City – but instead his heart clenches in his chest. What’s his Dad going to say when he finds out his son just played a part in the death of an innocent girl? 

Barry can’t shake the sense of inadequacy that night, no matter how many muggings he stops ( _seven_ ), or how many car thieves he dumps three miles outside the city with no choice but to walk back ( _three_ ). 

If his father really returns, there’s no way Barry deserves it. 

It’s his last thought before there’s a sharp pain at the back of his head, his vision blurs and the entire world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Len's snowflake](http://a-place-for-gifs.tumblr.com/image/144812630115)]
> 
> Yeah… Welcome to cliffhanger hell, folks =) I’m really happy with this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed this as well. I’d love to hear your thoughts on it, even if it’s a simple “I liked it!” 
> 
> **As to update frequency:** The entire fic has been outlined and structured in detail (on a board with colour-coded index cards because I’m a perfectionist and I want this to be the best fic it can possibly be), and there will be eight chapters in total unless my characters change their minds at some point.  
>  So "all" I need to do is write the chapters :) I’m currently also writing my bachelor thesis, helping the Sherlock Meta Library, turning my Bondlock fic into a short film, building a website and a YouTube channel, and overseeing post-production on my first short film, sooooooo…. Yeah. Can’t guarantee how fast updates will come, but since Len and Barry are my way of relaxing, I’m going to make time for them. 
> 
> **Long author’s note short:** please be patient, and for details on all of the above, see [this](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/post/144812033356/project-real-life-and-whats-going-on-with-me) Tumblr post =)


	2. Easier to Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your warm welcome back! And a shout-out to LadyOrpheus, who made sure chapter 2 maintains the overall suspense, among other things =) 
> 
> Chapter title comes from Linkin Park, whose songs seem to have been written for Len *sad-sigh*. Content warning for the use of a racial slur on part of a main character.

The rushing of the Caribbean Sea provides a soothing metronome to Len’s long strides across the sand. 

He relishes the fresh morning air that will give way to oppressing humidity much too soon considering Mark is still out ‘sightseeing’ with Shawna and Hartley. As much as shopping and acquiring a tan doing so can be called sightseeing, that is. 

Len stops to stretch on the beach rather than somewhere closer to the bungalow the Rogues are renting and for a moment he simply gazes out towards the ocean. It’s so different from the Pacific that dominates Coast Town, and yet Len catches himself scratching his chest, right where his shirt hides the snowflake tattoo. 

Needless to say, Barry found that one hilarious. Though he didn’t understand why Len wouldn’t join into the laughter. 

_“Will you tell me the story?”_

Len never gave him a reply. 

Back in their apartment, Len heads straight for the shower. As he towels off, he pauses for a moment and considers his ink. 

The two sleeves might be most striking: the right one denser than the left to hide – or at least distract from – some of the nastier traces of his father’s lessons. So much so that Shawna and Hartley spent an entire half hour inspecting them two days ago when Len deigned to wear a top that didn’t reach his wrists. 

Some of the ink is based on drawings Lisa made, like the misshaped ice cream truck or her imaginary dog; others are influenced by her, like the string of notes on Len’s right shoulder blade. 

Not even Lisa knows the story behind the snowflake, however, and Len has no intention of changing that. 

He might get a second one, slightly bigger, right next to it. Maybe in red.

*

_**Coast Town, 1999** _

_It’s like right out of one of these rom-coms Len only watches when no one is around. It’s even a coffee shop, for Christ’s sake._

_Their meet-cute features one Leonard, distracted by the blueprints he has just begun memorizing for the upcoming job, and one trust fund kid named Kero with a tailored suit and a fitted shirt, looking like the type of guy who belongs into this overpriced coffee shop._

_Len’s cover identity Leonardo Klein also belongs into this coffee shop, which is why he is here, trying to build his alias. But he’s too distracted and they crash into each other between rows of minimalistic chairs, Len’s coffee spilling over the incredibly expensive shirt._

_“Sorry,” Len says without feeling, expecting an overly dramatic outburst by an entitled brat._

_What he gets in return is an aborted grimace – the coffee, while not scolding, was at least hot – followed by a shrug and a bright smile._

_“Nothing the dry cleaners can’t handle! Let me get you a new one.”_

_The offer has Len blinking, confused. “But I ruined your shirt.”_

_The guy’s smile widens, revealing the perfectly white teeth of someone with a dental plan. “You look like your day could use an improvement.”_

_Len cannot argue with that assessment, which is how he ends up sitting across the table from a man who turns out to be a study in contrasts._

_“A halfway house,” he echoes._

_Kero nods. “It’s only a youth center so far, but I’ve been hounding my family’s friends for donations and it’s all starting to come together.”_

_Kero gestures wildly when he talks, and the topic lights a fire in his eyes like being on the ice does to Lisa. He has a confident air about him, reeling people in with his infectious enthusiasm and million-dollar smile. The handsome features don’t hurt either, in Len’s book._

_“Damn, I’ve got to run,” Kero says twenty minutes later, sounding genuinely sorry. “Would you, uh, would you like my number?”_

_Len is about to decline – he’s here for work, not play, after all – until he realizes no one will ever know. Lisa’s too busy with skating, Lewis is still in prison, their Uncle Bob and Aunt Pat are doing well. Heck, even the job is shaping up nicely._

_A little fun on the side won’t hurt._

_“Sure,” he tells Kero. “I’ll call you.”_

*

At first, Barry doesn’t notice anything’s wrong. 

It’s been a while since he was able to go from asleep to energized in the blink of an eye, so the grogginess doesn’t seem suspicious. 

The cell he finds himself in, however? Yeah, that’s suspicious. 

It holds nothing but a sink, a toilette, and the cot Barry woke up on. Barry’s hand snaps up to his neck where someone – his captor? – placed some sort of collar. There’s also a weird sensation emanating from his right forearm, almost as if someone inserted – 

“It’s a tracker.”

Barry is on his feet immediately. There’s no flash of lighting accompanying his movements, which scares him more than his surroundings, or the sight of the person who spoke. 

“And the collar is what’s dampening your powers,” the woman continues. 

She is leaning against the wall outside the bars of the cell door, arms loosely crossed. Her posture is relaxed, but there’s an eerie glint in her green eyes. 

That color’s apparently a theme with her: the tips of her afro are a bright green, as are her fingernails and patches of her otherwise earthy-brown leather coat. 

“Who are you?” Barry says. “What did you do to me?”

“I’m Jade.” His captor flashes her teeth. “I used my powers on you.” 

She waves one hand about and veils of green mist follow in its wake. 

“You also have two trackers on you that are equipped with GPS and enough juice to paralyze even a Speedster like you. So in the unlikely case that you do manage to get out of this compound, you’ll never truly escape me.”

Barry swallows around the lump that has formed in his throat. “What do you want from me?”

“Well, it’s not you per se,” Jade says, here expression darkening. “Really, Barry – you seem like a nice guy on this earth.”

“This earth?” Barry’s mind is working at full velocity, even if his body is incapable. “So you’re from another earth?” 

She doesn’t give him an inch, but Barry barges on regardless. 

“And the Flash on your earth – your version of me – he did something to you?”

Now _that_ gets a reaction. 

“He killed my entire Ludus,” Jade growls, a deep rumble in her chest, and pushes away from the wall. 

“Ludus? What –”

“Ludus, yes,” she interrupts. Her tone is clipped, as if the thought hurts her. “But I guess you don’t have Gladiators here anymore.”

Barry blinks. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we abandoned that blood sport centuries ago.”

“And replaced it with boxing and wrestling,” Jade sneers. “Really, that’s something completely different.”

“At least there, the participants choose to fight!” Barry snaps, taking a step forward. This close to the grated door, he catches a glimpse of an equally desolate hallway that lies beyond his cell. 

Jade arches an eyebrow. “So do our fighters. They fight for pride, for honor and glory.” Her tone softens. “They fight to become legends.”

Barry grits his teeth. “I’m guessing the prize money is also pretty hefty.”

“Obviously,” Jade says, and Barry has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. It’s always the same – pure greed. It would be boring if it weren’t also what landed him in this mess. 

He wants to keep her talking, try to get her to admit what’s going on or why she went to such lengths to capture him, but when he opens his mouth to speak all he manages is an aborted, “So what –” before his voice leaves him. 

Barry stares at Jade in shock. The only sign that she’s to blame for his sudden muteness is a raised right hand.

“That’s enough for now,” she sneers. “Training starts in an hour.” Then, her expression hardens. “I’m going to enjoy making you pay.”

He can only watch, mind swirling, as she turns around and walks off. It isn’t until she has rounded the corner, her coat billowing in her wake, that the extent of his situation dawns on Barry. 

*

“Jeez, sis – do you mind?”

Lisa makes a dismissive gesture at his lack of clothing. “What? We’re family.”

“I meant the laptop.” 

Which is sitting on the little desk in Len’s bedroom where he left it. Closed. 

Lisa’s grin only widens. “I got bored. That was a suspiciously long shower, Lenny.”

“Had to wait for the water to cool down,” Len parries, slipping into a new pair of navy blue underwear and grabbing pants and a long-sleeve shirt that exposes a bit of his chest. 

“You’re a riot today, jerk.”

“Train wreck.” Len tugs the pants into place. “There a reason for why you aren’t already letting some rich schmuck buy you overpriced drinks?”

“Oh yeah, Mick found someplace he wants us to try, open flame grill, or something,” Lisa says supposedly matter-of-factly, but her tone betrays there’s something else on her mind. 

Len rolls his eyes and tugs the top over his head.

“A metahuman destroyed parts of Central City.”

Len freezes, then immediately curses his lack of composure. He tries to play it cool, but the glint in Lisa’s eyes belies his success. 

“Seven dead, so far,” Lisa adds. 

Len can’t resist asking, “Where was our dear Speedster?”

“Rumor has it – he’s gone.”

Forcing himself to shrug, which at least helps get his shirt in place, Len asks about that open flame grill Mick uncovered. All that sun must be getting to his sister because she allows the change of topic with minimal fuss. 

It doesn’t stop Len from checking Central City Picture News and a new blog called FlashWatch for updates. Two days later, a source from the CCPD admits to a gossip rag that the Flash has vanished, nowhere to be found, and is being treated as a missing person. 

There is a strange pressure inside Len’s chest as his thoughts flicker to Mr. Takagi who seemed so intrigued by the possibility of metahuman Rogues. Surely people with his scope of influence could… 

Len feels his eyes unfocus for a few drawn-out seconds as he follows that hunch, right to a certain platinum card he still has in his possession. What if –

No. None of his business. 

Len swallows all his theories down and snaps the laptop shut with an air of finality. 

*

Everything hurts, from Barry’s toes to the tips of his hair. 

It might’ve been fine if he’d been pushing himself voluntarily, but as it is he’s been ‘training’ for hours and hours that simply never seem to end. His heightened metabolism isn’t doing him any favors in that regard. Too bad his captors don’t care about that. 

“That all you got?!” his current training partner shouts at him. He’s a wall of sculpted muscle, preened for fights in this surreal arena they are in. The Wall cracks his whip – his weapon of choice – and lashes out. 

Barry is still faster than normal but he’s tiring out, and every abrupt movement jars where that other metahuman struck him an hour ago… or two?

It’s all blurring in Barry’s mind. Won’t be long until stars will be dancing in his vision. 

*

 _Barry’s leg is jiggling and he keeps shifting in the chair until Len sends him a look that clearly says,_ Stop, or I’ll hang up and go back to the gym, Red.

_“Sorry,” Barry says through the phone, “but we’ve pre-ordered it weeks ago and we’ll finally get the Blu-Ray tomorrow and Cisco’s making tapas and –”_

_It’s astounding how Len manages to communicate so much with nothing but a raised eyebrow._

_Barry bites his tongue. “Sorry. I guess it’s not the best topic, I’ll shut up now.”_

_He can see Len’s lips twitch and Barry’s heart flutters a little in his chest in a way that has nothing to do with the Speed Force because the other man knows him so well that he’s probably got a mental countdown running until –_

_“It’s the new Star Wars movie.”_

_\- Barry can’t keep quiet anymore. He bites his lips as Len’s expression falls._

_“What a grand idea, Red,” he sneers, obviously trying to redirect Barry’s attention from the regret in those blue eyes, “remind the guy in prison of a DVD he can’t buy himself.”_

_“Sorry, Len,” Barry says and he would have continued but an idea strikes him. “Wait – oh my god, of course!”_

_Len’s brow creases. “What?”_

_“Oh no, it’s a surprise! Gotta run!”_

_Barry beams at him through the glass before hanging up the phone and rushing off to prepare. When he arrives in Len’s cell the next day after movie night with Cisco, the other man has his arms crossed and a weary expression on his face._

_In a heartbeat, the noise cancellor is in place and Barry has phased his laptop through the cell door along with the DVD and a thermos of hot chocolate he prepared at home before rushing over._

_He gets to see a flicker of something soft and genuine, something vulnerable in Len’s eyes as realization dawns on the man, and Barry’s heart leaps into his throat. It’s moments like this that prove he’s not imagining things, and that in return makes ignoring he elephant-shaped ice sculpture in the room impossible._

_Barry figures there are worse things than prison romance. Especially when it comes with Len’s arms wrapped around his body as they settle in and Barry hits play, and a touch of lips against the nape of his neck._

_Len won’t ever say it, but his gestures speak loud and clear._

*

Barry blinks through the drops of blood shrouding his vision. The cut above his eye’s going to heal in a bit, but his vision is still distorted and he takes another hit because he didn’t see it coming. 

The pain is bad, but the memories hurt a hell of a lot more. Barry embraces the distraction, lets his mind flood with images of times long past, and pulls himself up again.

*

Len fails to go six hours without checking FlashWatch. He is about to break his current record of five hours forty-nine minutes when Hartley barges into his room. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, knocking’s a virtue only superseded by patience, Captain,” Hartley chatters away, “but your leadership is needed.”

Pushing his phone back into his pocket is harder than it should be. At least he doesn’t have to fake his exasperation. 

“What did Mardon this time?” 

Hartley purses his lips. “Nothing but sunbathe with his girlfriend. _I_ scored us a potential job.”

Len refrains from commenting. Knowing Hartley, the job involves either too much risk or too little. 

This time around, as Len finds out thirty-seven minutes later, it’s the former. 

“No can do, señores,” Len tells the prominently inked lads across the mahogany table. “We’re on holiday.”

The group’s leader makes to stare Len into submission – a laughable endeavor considering Len was taught by the most dangerous man he ever knew, and that was before he had three metahumans on his team. 

As expected, Hartley complains vocally as soon as Shawna brought them all back to their bungalow. Len’s skin has been itching ever since he abandoned his phone one hundred and sixty-nine minutes ago. 

It’s an unfortunate combination. 

“One more word out of you, Rathaway, and you’ll get to see first-hand what my gun is capable of.”

“Is that a come-on, Captain? Because you know, all you gotta do –” 

Hartley stops abruptly when he hears the telltale sound of the cold gun activating. 

“I’m with Piper on this one, Lenny,” Lisa says, crossing her arms. Behind her, even Mick looks curious. “That’s an indecent amount of money you turned down. You owe us an explanation.”

Len rubs the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep breath. Not everyone researches their surroundings as thoroughly as he does, he reminds himself. 

“Those gentlemen you set up a meeting with?” Len sneers. “One of them is known as El Mediador. Works for the Sinaloa cartel. Drug running, human trafficking… fun times. Oh, and the Sinaloa cartel is working with Sun Yee On.”

“Oh shit,” Mick grumbles. 

“Who’s they?” Shawna asks. 

“Chinese triad,” Mick explains. “Don’t like Snart much. Tried to have him killed in Iron Heights.”

Lisa spins around immediately. “Lenny!”

“Nothing a few days in medical couldn’t cure, sis.”

Meanwhile, Hartley’s eyes have narrowed. “What did you do to get on their bad side?”

Len shrugs. “Had a couple of surplus seconds one time. Uncuffed some chinkas from radiators.”

“Deflecting with racism is really low, Cold,” Shawna says, voice hard. 

_Barry would have said the same._

The temperature in the room grows marginally warmer as Mark grumbles, “So you saved some sex slaves and now we can’t make a million bucks?” 

“You’re free to work that job on your own, Mardon,” Len says, his tone as icy as his nickname, “but watch out for that brawd that was with them tonight. Something about her just reeks of badge.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Mardon fires back. 

Len doesn’t rise to the bait. “If you do take that job, don’t come running to me when you find you’re in over your head.”

He holds Mark’s defiant gaze for seventeen seconds. It’s Mark who backs down first and suggests painting the town red with all their hard-earned cash. 

Len waves them off. Lisa storms out – wonderful – but Mick pauses in the doorway. Len waits as Mick considers him, hand twitching against the outline of his phone in the front pocket of his khakis. 

His friend just huffs and follows the others. Len has FlashWatch open four-point-five seconds later, rubbing at his pectoral tattoo as he waits for the site to load. 

*

_Kero suggests seeing a movie for their first date._

_“Sure,” Len says into the phone. “Any preferences?”_

_Which is how Len ends up in a shiny Coast Town multiplex, watching Jack’s Smirking Revenge and spending the next hour talking cultural conceptions of manhood, nihilism, and consumerist culture with Kero._

School ain’t teaching you the right things, son. You think you’re something special?

_The memory of an old lesson enters his mind like Jack’s Inflamed Sense of Rejection._

_“What’s wrong?”_

_When Len looks at Kero, his large brown eyes are full of genuine worry._

_“He’s right,” Len says when he trusts his voice again. “We ain’t unique snowflakes. We’re the all dancing crap of the world.”_

_He expects Kero to laugh it off and move on, talk about IKEA some more and how their generation lacks an identity-establishing conflict, but all Kero does is look at him for six seconds that seem to stretch into infinity._

_“You really believe that.”_

_It’s not a question, so Len does not treat it like one._

_“But you’re…” Kero runs a hand through his thick hair, stepping closer. “You’re amazing.”_

_Len snorts. “I’m nobody.”_

_Kero shakes his head and reaches out. Len tenses for a split second but all the guy does is grab the lapels of the one good jacket he owns._

_“You are a snowflake, Leo. You’re my unique snowflake.”_

_It’s corny as hell and should make his skin crawl_ (You wanna be a tough guy, son, or a pussy?) _, but Len’s mind must be malfunctioning because instead there’s a warmth filling his ribcage._

_When Kero kisses him, Len doesn’t flinch. He kisses back, right there on the streets of Coast Town where everyone can see, until his legs feel less than stable._

_He spares a thought for the con he is running, the lies he is telling, then pushes all worries aside. He’s only having some fun, isn’t he?_

*

Len finds a real-life movie rental place within a twenty-minute radius and grabs a selection since only taking the two he actually wants would make denying how raw and unsettled he is feeling infinitely harder. He makes a pot of hot chocolate with some of the tequila still in their fridge, then settles on the couch. 

He is still there half an hour later, contemplating DVD cases, when Lisa and Mick barge back into the shared living room. 

Len looks up with a long-suffering sigh. “What, did Hartley’s Complete Lack Of Subtlety get the kid in trouble again?” 

Lisa’s jaw is set – Len doubts he will like what’s coming – as she takes in the DVDs and the mug on the coffee table. 

Mick is the one to break the silence. “’S that hot chocolate?” 

“It’s got tequila in it.” 

“Damn it, Lenny,” Lisa hisses, arms akimbo, “this ends now.”

“Aw, don’t worry, sis – I’ll share,” Len says, getting up and making to move past his teammates into the kitchen, only to find Mick stepping in his path. Len arches an eyebrow at his friend in silent question, but it’s Lisa who answers. 

“You’re going to announce a three-month break for the Rogues and then you, me, and Mick are going to take the jet to Central City.”

Len’s pulse quickens. He coughs. “And why would I do that?” 

“Because you want to, jerk,” Lisa tells him. 

He could deny it but the two people who know him better than anyone on this earth or any other are right in this room, so any pretense would be moot. He chooses a different route. 

“And as the philosopher Jagger once said,” Len drawls, “you can’t always get what you want.”

“Cut the crap, Lenny,” Lisa snaps. “You can, and you will. And we’re coming with you.”

“That so?” Len turns back to Mick. “You fine with this?” 

Mick saves his words for when actions don’t carry the meaning, and this time apparently the curt nod is enough in Mick’s mind. Damn – the hot chocolate was a bad idea in retrospect. Len has to quell the surge of affection for his friend. 

Instead, he scoffs. “So what’s the plan? Just waltz into S.T.A.R. Labs and ask them nicely not to throw us all into the Pipeline?”

“You say that like you’re not already scheming how to get to Monaco.”

That has Len’s sneer turn into a scowl as he glares at his sister. “I deleted my browser history.”

“And Hartley’s been teaching me a few neat tricks.” 

Lisa’s Cheshire cat grin has a dangerous edge to it.

“Why Monaco?” Mick asks. 

“Something Takagi said.”

Fortunately, that seems to be enough for now. Len takes a deep breath and lifts a hand to scratch the nape of his neck. 

What Lisa and Mick are offering is too good to be true and besides, Len hasn’t even actively admitted to himself, in the quiet of his mind, that he wants to try and get Barry out from whatever it is the Speedster got himself into. 

Even if he had – life for Leonard Snart does not work that way. Something always happens, every time Len thinks he found… whatever it is people seek in life. Something always reminds Len that he’s not in control. 

“Lenny?”

He meets his sister’s eyes. 

Well. If it’s all gonna go to hell for him anyway, the least Len can do is try and make sure Barry isn’t consumed by the flames. 

“Wheels up in an hour,” he announces. “I’ll tell the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of feels in this one… and cyber-hugs to everyone who recongises the movie Len watches, aka my all-time favourite film =)


	3. Reading between the Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M ALIVE! After four weeks of dry academic German for my thesis, writing this felt like learning to walk again… But thanks to LadyOrpheus’s honest feedback and a few rewrites, I’m finally ready to post this =) 
> 
> I couldn’t resist giving Kero’s family a ‘telling surname’. [Guinto](http://tagaloglang.com/most-common-filipino-surnames/) means “gold” in Tagalog, one of many indigenous languages on the Philippines. It’s known as Filipino in its standardized form, at least according to my [research](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tagalog_language).

_“What?”_

_Kero’s voice is muffled by the motorcycle helmet he’s still wearing, seated behind Len on the bike._

_Len shakes his head as he kills the engine and removes his own protective gear._

_“Your definition of the word ‘house’ needs updating.”_

_“What’d you call it, then?”_

_“Oh, that?” Len nods towards the opulent building looming over them. It’s big enough to fit the old Snart residence fourteen-point-five times, by Len’s initial estimate. “I believe the appropriate term would be ‘mansion’.”_

_Kero tilts his head, his brow creasing. “I guess?”_

_Len would shoot back a snarky insult, but his alias has a different background and wouldn’t be this angry at the inequality in the world. Moments like this serve as steady reminders that whatever this is between him and Kero is built on a swamp of lies – no matter how many carefree afternoons at the beach they share, it’s an illusion._

_An illusion that features Len agreeing to meet Kero’s parents for brunch._ Brunch. _Prolonged exposure to sunlight and the sound of waves has a detrimental effect on Len’s mental health, apparently._

_Fortunately, Len still manages to identify several holes in the mansion’s security as they wind their way up to the front doors. Three man job, in and out in under an hour; two if they want to crack the safe that’s certainly located –_

_“You must be Leo – my son just won’t shut up about you!”_

_Len turns up his charm to eleven and kisses the palm of the lady’s hand as Kero fidgets next to him. He sends him a reassuring smile. It’s the first time in his life that he “meets the parents”, and he’ll be damned if he didn’t make the most of this rite of passage._

*

S.T.A.R. Lab security has been thoroughly upgraded since the last time Len had to break in, but Len isn’t worried. He heads straight for the hidden control panel near the transformer. 

“D’you know how to disable it?” Mick asks. 

_Something Barry said,_ almost slips out. Len inhales sharply to hold it back and instead goes with, “The Flash ain’t that good at keeping secrets.” 

“Or at keeping his prisoners locked up,” Lisa laughs, because maturity is something she has yet to acquire. 

Len ignores her comment. S.T.A.R. Labs looms over them like a temple, enormous in its proportions. One lonely night in Iron Heights, Len calculated how often he could fit the old Snart residence into the structure. Forty-eight-point-five times. 

“’S long as it gets us inside, I don't care,” Mick huffs. 

Len clips the last wire with a sweeping gesture, cocking an eyebrow. Mick huffs again and falls into step behind him.

“What tale are you gonna spin, by the way?” Lisa wonders as Len navigates them through the maze of hallways. “I doubt Team Flash is going to receive us with open –”

“We only have 157 seconds until we lose the element of surprise,” Len interjects, drawing in Cold gun in preparation, “so less talkin', more walkin'.”

As it turns out they needn’t have bothered with any sort of stealth for Team Flash is currently immersed in a heated debate in the Situation Room. 

In addition to the usual suspects - Cisco, Dr. Snow, the good detective - there is also Iris West, another younger-sounding guy, a man whose voice Len recognizes from his research as Henry Allen, and none other than Dr. Wells. 

_So Barry did manage to keep some secrets to himself,_ Len muses, concentrating on what the group is arguing about from where he, Lisa, and Mick stopped just around the bend of the hallway. 

His heart is beating a staccato against his ribs, but Len ignores it. 

“– went over that goddamn crime scene three times myself,” the detective is snapping, which earns him a stern rumble from Wells. 

“Then go over it again –” 

“That ain't gonna get us different results!” 

“There has to be something else we can try,” Iris intervenes and Len would bet she's looking at Ramon. 

“Ey, don’t look at me like that!” 

_Bingo._

“I’ve got nothing! The frequency-tracking program failed and I haven’t been able to vibe, like, at all. It’s like I'm being blocked.” 

“Try harder!” 

“What do you think I've been doing for the last few days, Harry!”

It’s a good opening, so Len tilts his head and steps forward, secure in the knowledge that his fellow Rogues will follow suit. 

“Well, well, well,” Len announces, rounding the corner and entering the room with the cold gun resting comfortably on his shoulder. “Seems like we’re just in time.” 

Everyone’s reactions are ludicrously predictable: Joe West draws his gun; his daughter steps in front of others, in this case Dr. Snow and the unknown guy, while Wells’s features remain blank; Henry Allen glares and Cisco raises his right hand and points his palm at them. 

Len arches an unimpressed eyebrow. He can see the exact millisecond Ramon realizes that Len knows about his metahuman ability. Scarlet really was talkative. 

“Captain Cold.” 

Len inclines his head. 

“Looking good, Cisco,” Lisa cuts in. 

The corners of Ramon’s lips twitch. “You too, Golden Glider.” 

If Iris weren’t that far away, Len is certain she would have hit the scientist. 

“Who’s the new kid?” Len asks with an eye on the black teen. 

Joe West’s anger grows even more pronounced. “None of your business, Snart.”

Len connects the dots in the blink of an eye, then weighs the pros and cons of his response in a millisecond. 

He chuckles drily. “Must be nice – loosing one son, gaining another.” 

Several things happen at once after that: West snarls, Ramon narrows his eyes and Wells widens his stance as even the last person in the room catches on to the fact that Len knows Barry is the Flash. Len can feel Lisa shifting her weight as the words register and she, too, connects the dots. The only sign Mick is on the same page is a minute change in the man’s breathing – small, but not small enough to escape Len’s notice. 

He’ll face his team’s questions later. Now he has other problems – namely Barry’s father, who has finally woken from his paralysis. 

The atmospheric shift propels him forward yet Len sees it coming and allows Allen to slam him against the wall. He can hear the heat gun charging just as Henry growls, “You damn bastard!” 

“Henry!” West cautions but it only makes Allen exert more pressure on Len’s chest, and the furious crease of his brow deepens even further. 

“Careful, doc,” Len says. “My partner’s got an itchy trigger finger.”

“I’m not letting go of you until you tell me why the hell you’re here.”

“Yeah, I’d like to know that, too,” Detective West agrees. 

Neither Len nor Mick moves. He can practically feel Lisa sneer. 

“Let him go, Henry.”

“Stay out of this, Harrison,” Allen says, his eyes never leaving Len. 

“Mr. Snart and his crew are wanted criminals,” Wells says, as if anyone in the room could have forgotten that particular detail. “They wouldn’t be here without good reason and I, for one, am rather curious as to what that is since I believe it relates to our missing person.” 

“He’s right,” Lisa cuts in. “We’re here to save the day. Or month, really.”

“Sure, dude,” Cisco says, widening his stance. “Anyone else have the sudden urge to go all Admiral Ackbar here?” 

“It’s not a trap,” Len asserts and get the fleeting pleasure of having rendered Cisco Ramon speechless with his knowledge of pop culture references. Team Flash tends to forget Len was actually already alive when Star Wars first came out. 

“Yeah, Snart, nice try,” West says. 

“Listen to me –“ Wells tries again, but now the rest of the gang has decided to pitch in while Henry Allen still has Len pressed against the wall. Len rolls his eyes and shoots Mick a glance whose mouth twitches in amused anticipation. 

On an exhale, Len explodes into movement. Two and a half seconds later it is Allen whose body hits the wall and all of Team Flash takes an angry step closer. 

“This is getting tedious,” Len drawls. “On the count of three I’m going to release the good doctor, and everyone’s going to lower their weapon of choice.”

He savors the countdown and the rush of power that comes with owning the room as he does after a drawn-out staring match with Joe West while Cisco and Lisa have one of their own. Mick grins that pyromanic grin of his and Iris actually takes a step back. 

“Now,” Len announces once all guns have been holstered and all hands lowered. “I don’t like to repeat myself so I’m only going to explain this once.”

*

_Brunch with Mr. and Mrs. Guinto is surprisingly pleasurable, least of all because of the nice breeze that visits them on the terrace overlooking the mansion’s grounds._

_Kero’s mother turns out to be the curator of a very elite art gallery, who knows even more about valuable paintings than Len does. Mr. Guinto strikes him as a busy but kind man, who used to cut back his hours at the office in order to help his wife care for his aging parents._

_“Our son told us you’re in town to assist your sister’s training,” Mr. Guinto says with an approving glint in his eye._

_Len nods and replaces the hideously expensive coffee cup on the table. “She’s going to make the national team for the Olympics.”_

_“What were you doing in Star City, Mr. Klein?”_

_“I was a security consultant.”_

_Mrs. Guinto takes charge of the conversation, then. Her gallery apparently has had trouble in the past and Len immediately volunteers to take a look and ensure their previous ‘expert’ didn’t screw them over._

_“You know, I’d hoped you’d leave a good impression, but now I fear they’ll disinherit me and adopt you instead,” Kero jokes much later as they make their way back to Len’s motorcycle._

_Len steals a kiss to distract himself from the warmth in his chest and focuses on the upcoming trip to the art gallery. Making a good impression could get him an in with the upper one percent of Coast Town as well as some jobs on the side._

Long con, _he reminds himself._ Eyes on the job. 

*

“So let me get this straight,” Cisco says, running a hand through his hair. 

The movement draws Lisa’s gaze in a way Len decides is best not to think about. 

“You think Barry’s been kidnapped by some underground Fight-Club-Spartacus-crossover and he’s made to fight other meta humans, and you, Captain Cold, leader of the Rogues and Backstabbing Traitor Extraordinaire who betrayed us not once,” Cisco shakes a finger in everyone’s face, “no uh, not only _once_ but –”

“We get it, Ramon.” 

“Well, excuse me, Harry, if I’m still a bit hung-up on the fact that this guy kidnapped and tortured my brother.”

That particular piece of information has Henry Allen growl some more and the kid Len has learned is called Wally West – gotta love that alliteration – turn towards him and Mick in horror. Before that he was ogling Lisa, so Len considers this an improvement. 

To his surprise, it is Iris who proves to be the most pragmatic person in the room. 

“I take it you have a plan?” she asks, arms crossed and jaw set. 

Len smirks. “A simple one.” 

Yet before he can elaborate, Iris is talking again. “But why?” 

Words cannot express how Len has dreaded this question. He reels off the answer he devised on the flight back to the USA infusing his tone with just a dash of _subtext_. 

“I don’t like owing people favors. Intentional or not, Red helped me break out of Iron Heights. I’m here to repay that by breaking him out of wherever he’s being held.”

Cisco is the first to call “Bullshit. There’s got to be something in it for you.”

Len plays coy. “Is that so?”

“Who you wanna pull one over in Monaco, Snart?” Joe West asks. “Guys like you don’t do anything without getting something in return.”

“Whatever that is,” Len says, “I’m not gonna tell you.” He pans the room and meets everyone’s eye. “You want to hear the plan, or you wanna send us packing?”

Henry Allen crosses his arms defiantly, West and Wells just glare. Iris looks too intrigued for Len’s liking and Cisco’s eyes are more on Lisa than anything else. The only people who seem inclined to listen are Dr. Snow and the new kid.

“Yeah, go on,” Wally says, earning himself a stern fatherly glare. 

Len indicates his team with a wave of his hand. “The three of us are known in certain, uh, _affluent circles_. I also have a personal invitation to Monaco from that recent employer I mentioned. We’ll go there and take two of you with us. We find the club. We make a plan. We extract Allen. Think of it as an undercover operation.”

The ensuing protests are aggravating and consume a total of thirteen minutes and forty-nine seconds, at which point Mick’s hand reaches for his gun again. 

“Stop it,” Dr. Snow intervenes. “All of you, this isn’t helping.”

“Oh, and the plan of an evil supervillain is?”

“I thought you were above tautologies, Cisco,” Lisa teases, which distracts Ramon long enough for Dr. Snow to deliver a compelling plea on how this might be Team Flash’s only chance to save their wayward hero. 

Which Len has been saying for the past half-hour. Too bad he’s not wearing a skirt. 

“Fine,” Harrison Wells snaps eventually. “But I’m coming with you.”

“Me, too,” both Henry Allen and Joe West echo simultaneously. 

Mick laughs in their faces. Even Len can’t suppress a grin. 

Lisa jeers. “Oh yes, let’s take the obvious cop, the murderer whose face’s been plastered all over the news, and the scientist who should be in a wheelchair… and also dead.”

“He’s my son,” Henry argues. “I’ve got a right to go with you.”

Heaving a sigh, Len straightens himself up to his full height. “This is my op, and I decide who’s with us. Sorry, doc – you’d be raising too many red flags. Same for you, detective.”

West turns his severest glare on Len. “So who are you gonna take with you, huh?”

Lisa smiles her sweetest smile as she turns towards Cisco. “You’ll be my toy of the month.”

Ramon blinks. “Am I allowed to like this plan?” he wonders, but no one thinks it necessary to reply. 

“And Miss West here is going to be Mick’s escort during our stay,” Len cuts in before Lisa starts making Ramon even more flustered. “Nothing out of the ordinary there to raise suspicion.”

“What, and I look like a hooker?” Iris scoffs. 

“High-class escort,” Mick grunts. “’S different.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I don’t know the nuances of prostitution,” Iris continues, her tone hard as steel, “but I don’t need to pay people to keep me company.” 

“It’s not company I’m after, darlin’,” Mick drawls, baring his teeth in a smile that’s more grimace than grin. 

Iris purses her lips, then spins around to fix Len with a stern gaze. “Why can’t I be your gold digger?”

“That would be slightly out of character for me, Miss West.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” her father interrupts. 

“That A, I never take plus ones with me to exotic locations, especially when I’m scouting for a business opportunity, and B, even if I did they’d be _male_.”

Understanding spreads throughout the room, dawning on Iris’s features a lot more quickly than everyone else’s. There’s something else in her eyes, however, that Len prefers not to dwell on. Instead, he dives into doling out instructions, which everyone follows with obvious reluctance. 

But as Dr. Snow said – the Rogues are their only lead that might get them their hero back. 

* 

_If Barry had to pick one moment that proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that Len has actual feelings, he’d pick the Phone Call._

_Barry is speeding through his assignments at work when a ringing interrupts him. The number is withheld so his “Hello?” is tentative._

_“An inmate of Iron Heights is attempting to contact you…” the automated message prattles on. Bewildered, Barry accepts the call and the fees._

_“Hello, Barry.”_

_“What, no nickname on the phone?” is the best reply he can come up with. Barry feels completely out of his depth._

_Len’s response is dry as frozen snow. “I didn’t think you’d want to give the people monitoring blackmail material.”_

_“Ah, yeah...” Barry stammers, seguing into an even more awkward “What’s up?” as he shifts one pile of reports from his arms to his desks. “Is this about, you know?”_

_And Barry’d been doing his best to not let mental images of the previous night distract him. Well, good riddance to his concentration._

_“No.”_

_“Oh, yeah, obviously,” Barry forces a laugh. “Why would it be?”_

_Maybe because Barry can still feel the pressure of Len’s torso against his back, or his hands gripping his hips even though the imprints have long since faded. Maybe because, if they were, like, a normal couple, then Len might be calling to check in and ask if Barry’s okay._

_But Len’s in prison for murder and all Barry gets is a piece of information relating to their current metahuman problem. He listens carefully as Cold describes the route to the not-so-safe house of this biker gang their suspect is associated with and bites his tongue before he gets the chance to swoon pathetically about how he could practically still feel Len all morning._

_“Remember, you only have thirty-nine seconds to –”_

_“Yes, Snart, I heard you the first ten times -”_

_“I only mentioned it three times so far. Guess I need to repeat it a couple more times to make sure it’ll stick.”_

_“I doubt speed will be the problem, really.”_

_Len is quiet for a second. “No, I don’t think it will.”_

_There’s just a hint of innuendo in his tone but it’s enough to make the heat rise in Barry’s cheeks. “Shut up.”_

_“It’s a useful trait, Barry,” Len says, then adds in perfect deadpan, “In certain areas of life.”_

_“Can we hang up now?” Barry pleads before he actually turns the color of his suit._

_“If you’re sure you got it.”_

_“I had it the first time you ran me through it.”_

_“Some things bear repeating.”_

_“I got it, Len,” Barry assures him. “You can go back to lifting weights or whatever it is you’re procrastinating.”_

_“GED classes, actually,” is the immediate reply._

_Barry can practically see the accompanying smirk. He’s so caught up in imagining it that he almost misses the follow-up remark._

_“You okay?”_

_“Huh? Am I – oh!” Barry’s eyes widen. “Uh, yeah. I’m, uh. Great, actually.”_

_For a moment, all he hears is soft breathing._

_“Good.”_

_Next thing Barry knows, the dial tone rings. He lowers the phone and stares at it. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that there’s no logical reason, if you really look at it, for Captain Cold to tell him about the safe house. Sure, it’s nice to know but as the Flash, Barry would’ve been able to find it within minutes._

_Meaning, Len only used it as a pretext._

_“I had a great time, too, Len,” Barry says, still contemplating his phone._

*

Barry wakes to the rhythmic beating of a heart monitor. 

His body is one giant ache but that’s secondary now: he _knows_ that sound. There’s an audible jump in his pulse as he sits up because he’s _back_ , he’s in his medical bed at S.T.A.R. Labs with an IV, right, that’s the sound of their heart rate monitor in Central City – 

“Lie back,” a female voice orders that doesn’t sound the tiniest bit like Caitlin. 

“What –”

Barry’s eyes find the IV at the back of his hand and he follows the tube up to the – 

“Nothing a dose of glucose wouldn’t cure, Mr. Allen.”

Barry blinks at the doctor, willing his brain to make the connection. 

Training. Exhaustion. Dizziness… 

“Miss Jade was unaware of the needs of your heightened metabolism,” the woman explains. “You’re to seek me out twice a day for injections from now on. Can’t have you fainting right before the Superior Games now, can we?”

The doctor shoots him what to her probably looks like a reassuring smile in the mirror. Barry wants to scream at her but finds he lacks the energy to even draw a deep breath. The glucose can’t start working fast enough. 

*

Len’s order to be ready by first light had the desired effect – except for Cisco’s ramblings about how Captain Cold probably practices these lines in front of a mirror every morning – and spurs everyone into action. Even Mick and Lisa are too busy to confront Len about the reason he gave Team Flash which his friends _know_ to be false. 

In the flurry of research and preparations, aided by satellite images and S.T.A.R. Labs’ superior methods of unearthing intel, Len slips into the nearest bathroom to splash his face with cold water. 

He realizes too late that he chose the same bathroom he used to change back into his prison garb during his time helping out the Speedster. 

The Leonard Snart staring back at him now looks… _older_ , is the most flattering word Len can come up with. 

Before he can descend any further into the depth of self-reflection, the creak of the door gives him pause. His hand is already on the grip of his gun when he registers the footsteps that follow. They don’t belong to anyone Len is familiar with, but they’re too light to be a man’s. 

“Good evening, Miss West.” 

Her steps falter but she overcomes her surprise quickly. Their eyes meet through the bathroom mirror. 

“Cold.” 

“Considering you’ll be on my crew soon, I’d suggest you call me Len.” 

“Like Barry did?” 

Now it’s Len’s turn to startle. Not at the question - he did, after all, offer Barry fist name privileges long before their relationship turned sexual - but at her tone. 

“I thought Barry had a girlfriend or boyfriend and that their thing simply wasn’t at that stage yet, but it was you, wasn’t it?” Iris’s gaze doesn’t falter. “You made him fall for you, and then you stabbed him in the back.” 

Len’s throat feels clogged all of a sudden. “It’s what I do.” 

“If that were true, Barry would never have gotten involved with you, Snart, and you know it.” 

“Is this the part where you threaten me? Or harm me for hurting your brother?” Len sneers, ignoring the way his heart clenches in his chest. 

“Yes.” 

Iris doesn’t even bat an eye. Len makes a note to never underestimate her. From what Barry told him, this woman might as well be able to walk on water, so Len always took the Speedster’s hymnals with a grain of salt. It seems wise to reevaluate that particular judgment. 

“And in case it’s up to me to save you or leave you for the wolves,” she continues, “rest assured I’ll do everything in my power to make your death as gruesome as possible.” 

“I quiver in my boots.” 

Iris breathes out with a vengeance but doesn’t reply. They glare at each other for another seven seconds. It is Iris who breaks the contact and walks off. She pauses near the door she used minutes ago, and Len prepares for a final, climactic threat. 

“For the record, Snart” Iris says. “He really loved you.” 

Len doesn’t know what to do with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is giving you as many feelings as it’s given me… If you enjoyed this and have a minute, leave a comment <3 they brighten my day and are wonderful motivation!
> 
> **[Edit 07-2017: due to real-life circumstances, all my fanfics are officially on hiatus]**


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